


My Love's a Revolver

by fangirlSevera



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: 1980s, Action, First Meetings, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mission Fic, Motorcycles, One Night Stands, Pre-Canon, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Frustration, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Violence, get-together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-04-18 23:03:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4723586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlSevera/pseuds/fangirlSevera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After certain kinds of missions, Harry Hart has two sure-fire ways to deal with pent-up adrenaline: Get pissed, or get laid. Unfortunately, the one time he takes someone home he's interested in seeing again, he turns out to be a new coworker. A coworker with <i>rules</i> about about sleeping with colleagues.</p><p>Being a gentleman, Harry will respect Merlin's boundaries. But the more they work together and get to know each other, the harder Harry finds it to keep propriety in check.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, this is going to be a long fic where I shove as many as my fave tropes I can think of on our boys. Hope you like the same ones I do. 
> 
> Is Reverse-Slow Burn a thing? 
> 
> Muchas gracias once again to [cruelest_month](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cruelest_month/pseuds/cruelest_month), who is always stuck being my beta an dealing with my insecurities. 
> 
> Title comes from the song "Revolver" by Madonna (Feat. Lil' Wayne).

Budapest.

Harry hadn't liked Budapest. It was a beautiful city to be sure, rich in history and architecture. But something about it left a cold, leaden feeling in his gut. Something beyond just being on the wrong side of the Iron Curtain. Galahad had been sent into Soviet territory already on more than one occasion and didn't have the same feeling. Budapest gave Harry an overwhelming sense of foreboding. Perhaps it was knowing that due to its geopolitical location, it made it an espionage hot bed. He was certain that the population was made up of more spies than real civilians.

He had spent close to a month in Hungary and was never so glad to be back on British soil at the end of it. The tension from his time abroad wouldn't leave him though, even during his debrief with Bedivere, his handler for the mission. It must have shown.

"Go home, Galahad. Get some well-deserved rest. Then tomorrow you'll need to report to Merlin. He has some upgrades for you."

Harry's brows rose. "It's been some time since the old wizard had something new for us."

"Ah, of course. You wouldn't know. We've had a change-over since you've been away. Old Rupe's retired. We have a new Merlin. Expert with these new-fangled computers, or so I'm told."

"I'm sure he is." As would be anyone who didn't think technological progress peaked at Bletchley.

Harry knew he couldn't take Bedivere's advice right away. He was still too wired to simply go home, kick off his shoes and sleep. For even when the mission parameters were intel gathering, he had to be ready to run, to shoot, to fight at any given moment. But that moment never came. Long missions with little physical action, no proper outlet for weeks of anticipation, left him feeling like ants were skittering over every nerve. What he needed was a good drink or three.

Harry's favorite pub was not far from his house. It was a cozy, quiet, old fashioned sort of place. It catered well to those who didn't care much for the noise and lights of the more modern recreational establishments. The floor, walls, and bar top were all made of dark wood. A wood that was well maintained, but as old as the men sitting in one corner of the room. They wore tweed, and were bent over a chess board, pipes clenched thoughtfully between their teeth as plumes of smoke suffused the air with a bitter-sweet aroma.

"The usual, Harry?" The barman asked.

"Thank you, George."

The barman pulled a pint of a rich, dark stout, which Harry gladly accepted.

The alcohol smoothed out the edges of Harry's nerves, burning brightly in his throat then becoming a settling warmth that spread from his stomach outwards. He lazily let his eyes rove about the room. He still needed to switch himself over from the mission mindset, to allow himself to fully realise that he was home and as safe as anyone in London could be. The constant, vigilant awareness was unnecessary. A couple of drinks were just the ticket to help damper the instinct.

But then he alighted upon the man at the far end of the bar. He was much younger than the other patrons. Possibly even younger than Harry himself. And unfamiliar. He had pitch black hair, a sharp, aquiline nose, and even sharper eyes behind a pair of glasses.

That buzz under Harry's skin woke further, and he suddenly knew it was going to take more than a couple pints to rid himself of it.

He took another drink and licked the ale from his lips while he cast his eyes around. It was a risk, even with the bartender and the old men distracted by their own business. But then, what did Harry live for, if not for risk?

"I haven't see you here before," Harry said smoothly, leaning one elbow on the bar, keeping a respectful distance.

The man flicked his eyes in Harry's direction. "I can say the same of you."

"Been away on business. But you are new to the area."

The man lifted a brow, catching the lack of question. He turned then, lips curled in a smirk. "And what gave you that impression?" He asked, his voice low and accented, which Harry caught when he spoke the first time.

Very Scottish. Very nice.

Harry grinned. "Are you simply away from home, on business, yourself, then?"

The man tilted his head to one side. He gave Harry a slow, considering look-over, which set Harry's heart quickening in hopeful anticipation. "In a manner of speaking," the man finally replied, gaze landing firmly on Harry's eyes. "Hired into a new position just last month."  
  
Harry took a long pull from his glass, meeting the other man's eyes unabashedly. There were social niceties for these kinds of situations. A ceremony as it were. And while Harry Hart was a gentleman, and therefore had a deep appreciation for the ceremony of politeness and discretion. Tonight, with his blood still singing for action and the dark eyes of a handsome stranger boring into his, he found himself with little patience.

And more than a little recklessness.

He stepped closer to the man, he bent his head and spoke in a hushed tone. "As much as I appreciate the necessity of prevarication and cautious small talk in these circumstances, I think it would do credit to us both if I neglect decorum and say I find you quite attractive and would like to take you to my bed... And since you have neither immediately protested, nor socked me in the jaw I can assume the idea is not entirely abhorrent to you." Harry leaned back and awaited the reply.

"You're an arrogant bastard, aren't you? But," the man tossed back the remainder of his whiskey, "you're also correct."

* * *

  
Harry had fully intended to be the initiator once inside his house, but the front door had barely closed behind them as his partner for the night was on him, lips hot and hungry against his. Harry brought his hands up to hold on to the strong jaw, happy that this man was a kisser. A good many of Harry's male hook-ups were aggressively against this one act.

"Upstairs," Harry gasped out, finally extracting his tongue from the intoxicating heat and slide of his companion's mouth.

They made it into Harry's bedroom without ever losing contact with one another. Hands were constantly groping, legs brushing, mouths only parting when one would get too many steps above the other.

The man undressed quickly and efficiently. The RAF tattoo that was revealed once his shirt was off betrayed the secret of that skill. Harry was only part-way done unbuttoning his shirt, and his trousers were still on, when the man stretched himself out on Harry's bed. Harry looked his fill at the pale skin and sinewy muscles on full display. His cock was filling out impressively, and Harry's mouth went dry at the site of it, at the sudden need for it.

"You have some catching up to do," the man commented.

Harry was about to argue, as he was fully hard already, but realized he was referring to clothes still covering Harry's heated skin. He went back to relieving himself at last of the layers of wool and crawled up the mattress. He stretched out over the naked body below him, propping himself on his hands, lowering only his head to capture the man's lips into another searing kiss.

"I was almost tempted to ask you to leave the suit on. You wear it excessively well."

Harry grinned and lowered his hips to slide his hot erection against the other man's. "Is that a fact?"

His breath stuttered and his back arched, lifting his hips to meet Harry's. "I said almost."

It was Harry's turn for his breath to momentarily leave him, as the man bent his head and left a wet trail of open-mouthed kisses down the column of Harry's throat, ending with his breath ghosting over Harry's nipple. The tip of his tongue teased the peaking nub until Harry had to pull away from the excruciating pleasure. The man chuckled darkly, sending further shivers down Harry's spine and straight to his straining cock.

Harry took the man's chin in his hands, drawing his head back up so he could look him in the eye. "What do you want?"

The man beneath him smiled slowly, his eyes blown with lust, were also going soft. "I believe you're the first person to ever ask me that. You are a proper gentleman, aren't you?"

Harry just barely kept himself from frowning, an expression that would not be taken well in the middle of their current activities. But the implication that the other man may have only had inconsiderate lovers before, did not sit well with him at all. He covered up his moment of distress with a cocky smile. "Well, I am and all."

"And a proper gentleman is always prepared. Especially with condoms and lube?"

"Yes, he is."

"Then I'd very much appreciate it if you would fuck me." His smile was teasing, but predatory.

And so was Harry's as he reached over to the nightstand and removed the required items. He sat back on his heels, and the man widened his (gorgeous, ridiculously long) legs to accommodate him. He couldn't wait to know what they would feel like wrapped around his back. Harry slicked his fingers, letting his own fevered skin warm the lube before asking if his partner was ready.

"I was ready five minutes ago," he groused. He stretched his arms above him and gripped the headboard. He bit his lip as Harry's finger breached him.

"You'll let me know if I'm hurting you..."

"You're doing everything but," he reassured him.

Harry wanted to be careful. He could tell it must have been some time since the last time the other man had indulged himself thus. With the other man's not unimpressive size, he imagined his partners preferred to indulge themselves. Harry was finding himself far too tempted to not leave it alone himself. He bent his head and gave the long shaft a firm lick. His lover for the night gasped something that sounded it may have been Gaelic and definitely a curse.

Harry had him stretched at three fingers, and the man's back arched as he lifted hips wanting to take them in more. "Please, just get in me already!"

"Well, since you said, 'please.'" They both huffed a laugh that quickly turned to moans when Harry lined himself up and sank into the tight heat of the other man's body. Harry's chest was heaving once he bottomed out, and the muscles on the man's arms flexed beautifully as his grip on the headboard tightened.

"I'm not made of fucking glass," the man said teeth gritted, since Harry hadn't moved yet. "Go on and fuck me."

So Harry did, always aiming to please his bed partners. He quickened his thrusts, the strong body beneath him able to take everything that was given to it. Those long legs did come up and squeezed Harry's ribs so hard, he thought they'd leave bruises. The buzzing in his blood was reaching a deafening crescendo, drowning out the rhythmic slapping of skin, the harsh breaths, and rapturous moans.

The man detached one hand from the headboard to wrap around himself. "God, _yes_ ," Harry groaned. "Come _on_."

The thighs around him tightened further, the man hissed, the muscles on his flat stomach clenching then releasing as he came.

After that, it didn't take long for Harry to follow him into blinding pleasure.

They caught their breath lying side by side. Harry had his eyes closed, listening to his heart slow. His skin prickled with drying sweat, but the buzzing was gone. His mind and body settled. There was a displeased hum next to him. Harry cracked his eyes open to find the man consulting his watch (a Bremont, Harry noted, along with the amusement it was the one article of clothing the man had not removed).

"I need to go. Early start tomorrow. Thank you for an engaging evening."

Harry raised his brows. "You're welcome, though I feel like I should be thanking you."

The man chuckled and sat up. He turned to sit on the mattress' edge. He raised his arms above his head, stretching them and elongating his back. Harry was very tempted to reach over and run a hand down that spine. Instead he said. "Bathroom's through there if you-"

His arms fell, and he twisted around to give Harry another one of his crooked smiles. "Thanks." He gathered his clothing and disappeared into the adjoining bathroom.

Harry hoisted himself out of bed as well. He disposed of the condom, then slid on his dressing gown before taking proper care of his suit. "Shall I call you a cab?" He inquired through the closed door.

The door opened. "Thank you, but I wouldn't mind walking a little."

"Allow me to see you to the door, then."

"Very gracious of you," his tone so politely dry, such a contradiction to the intimacy of the evening, almost made Harry laugh. The glint in the other man's eyes proved that was intentional.

They came to the foot of the stairs when Mr. Pickle dashed up to them, barking for his recently absent owner's attention. The man's eyes lit up. "This is your dog?" He bent down, holding out a hand for Mr. Pickle to sniff. Mr. Pickle grumbled, taking the stranger in, but tilted his head, allowing the man to scratch behind his ears. "What's his name?"

"Mr. Pickle."

"Excellent name," he said, mostly to himself. He stood then, and turned to Harry. "Well, good night." And he walked out of Harry's front door.

Harry made it a habit never to dwell on his liaisons. They never lasted more than one night. Being a Kingsman did not allow for much in the ways of relationships. And yet it irked him greatly when Harry realised that he never learned the man's name, nor did he ask for Harry's. But he had bothered to ask after the dog's.

Harry woke up the next morning with the liquid-limb contentment that came only after a night of being well-fucked. He stretched and smiled. Much better than the hangover he was originally planning on when he entered the pub yesterday. He blinked his eyes open in the morning sun. He hadn't set his alarm clock. He had slept in. He gave a mental shrug, and rolled over. He hadn't changed the sheets yet, and they still, not unpleasantly, smelled of sex and the handsome stranger.

He dozed off again.

After finally managing to pry himself from his mattress, Harry hummed tunelessly as he entered the tailor's shop. His steps faltered, but not his smirk when he spotted Bedivere sitting on the leather sofa, arms crossed. "Good morning, sir."

Bedivere raised a brow. "Is it still morning?"

"You're the one who instructed me to get some much-needed rest."

"I also told you, you had an appointment with Merlin. I'm to toss you in the tube the moment you arrive." He jerked his head in the direction of fitting room one. "Off you trot."

There was no one impatiently waiting for him when he emerged from the bullet car. Harry took a leisurely pace down to the work area where the old Merlin could have been found fiddling with dials on transistor radios disguised as cigarette packs. He'd occasionally turn and shout at one of his assistants for touching something without his permission.

When Harry opened the door, the room was not the same. The equipment on the tables all looked brand new. The collection of parts strewn about were covered with circuitry. Not a bulb nor tube in sight. The only person in the room was a young woman, her hair pulled back, goggles on, as she worked with a soldering iron. Harry smiled. He remembered Gwen complaining about Rupert not letting her use it. "Delicate fingers burn easy, my dear." He had apparently told her.

He closed the door firm enough to make his presence known, but not to startle her. She set the iron down and looked up. "Oh! There you are. Merlin's been looking for you." She pulled the safety goggles off. They left a thin, pink frame around her eyes.

"So, I've heard. But now I'm looking for him."

Gwen stood up and cracked her back. "Well, when you didn't show, he moved on to the server room."

"And where would I find that?"

Gwen chuckled. "You knights really don't get around much down here, do you? Come on, I'll show you. My legs could use the circulation."

Harry followed her through the concrete halls beneath the mansion. "What's he like?" He asked her. "Your new boss."

Her mouth turned down in thought. "Tall. Young. Good looking, I suppose."

"That's not what I-"

"I know." She gave him a cheeky wink. "To say he's smart is not only redundant, but an understatement. He's quite focused, a bit serious. But I suppose a lot of Scotsman are. He was in an uncommonly good mood this morning, though." She stopped in front of the door with a large sign saying "KEEP DOOR CLOSED AT ALL TIMES." "Well, here you are. Don't touch anything. I’m going to go get myself a cuppa."

He thanked her retreating back and opened the door. He was immediately hit with a wall of cold air. The room looked like a miniature city with man-height skyscrapers as far as the eye could see. By the door was a row of desks with a dozen monitors and keyboards atop it. Underneath it was a tangle of hanging wires and a pair of legs sticking out.

Harry approached the legs. "Merlin?"

"Nope! Just me." The rest of the man peered out from under the desk and blinked up at Harry behind coke-bottle glasses. "Hullo, Harry."

"Hello, Penny. Have you seen Merlin?"

"Oh! Right. He said something about..." Pennyworth hopped to his feet and called out. "Merlin, Galahad's here!"

"He's late," a voice called back. Harry's breath caught as a figure emerged from around a monolith of blinking lights.

It was the man from the pub.

It was Merlin.

Merlin's eyes flashed in surprise and recognition, but it was for only a moment. He shut it down, betraying nothing more on his face. "I thought punctuality was part of having good manners." His tone had nothing of the teasing quality Harry had enjoyed the night prior.

But then, these were hardly similar circumstances.

Harry hid his own shock with professional grace. "There is always something to be said about being fashionably late."

Merlin's eyes traveled over Harry's body, not entirely unlike the way he had in the pub, and Harry recalled this very same man, spread naked on his bed, commenting on how much he liked the way Harry looked in a suit. "There is. But you've only managed one of those two."

Harry's flirtatious smirk fell instantly. Next to him, Penny snickered. If there was one thing Harry Hart had never _ever_ been insulted over, it was his sartorial choices. It was an offense he could not allow to pass. A scathing, if juvenile, "That's not what you said last night," was on the tip of his tongue, but Merlin interrupted it with a put-upon sigh.

"I'll have to be satisfied with 'better late than never' I suppose. Penny, you can carry on by yourself?"

Pennyworth snapped a salute at his boss in response. Merlin passed him a cluster of multicolored wires, a screwdriver, and a clipboard.

"Galahad, if you would." He held the door open and addressed Harry without looking at him.

Harry shot his cuffs and unnecessarily straightened his tie before exiting the room. He was in the hall when Merlin closed the server room door behind them. Harry immediately turned to him, smiled and said, "Well, this is a-"

Merlin stopped him with a curt, "No." And started off down the hall.

"No?" Harry had to jog a bit to catch up with those long legs.

"We're not talking about it," Merlin clarified, once again refusing to look at him.

Harry clenched his jaw. He had actually entertained the fancy of a repeat performance, of meeting the man again at the pub, learning his name. Learning more about him. But, be careful what you wish for, he realized. Turned out the amazing, charming lover by night was an utter areshole by day.

Merlin opened another door, Harry followed through, close to his heels. The room was not unlike the armory behind the walls of dressing room 2. But this room was larger, starker. Merlin picked up a clipboard off a metal table. He kept his eyes on it, and cleared his throat. "Now, about your new equipment-"

"It's rude to not look at the person you're talking to." He grabbed the clipboard from Merlin's grip.

"I will not jeopardize my position with any insinuation or rumor of misconduct. Have you not noticed where we are?" He lowered his voice to a sharp hiss. "Work. We're working. Not to mention there's surveillance everywhere. Our personal lives have no place here." He tore the clipboard out of Harry’s hands.

"Misconduct? Only if some advantage was being taken... _Did_ you know who I was?"

"Of course not!"

"You _are_ fucking Merlin. You should have access to all active agent profiles."

"I've been rather busy. I did not make familiarizing myself with agents who were out of the country, on missions I had no part of, a priority. Clearly, a gross mistake."

"Mistake?" Harry tried not to be offended.

"And one we will not be repeating."

"Because we work together."

"Correct."

"But if we weren't, you'd be completely willing-"

"Stop. Please." For the first time that day, Merlin looked him in the eye, his distress becoming palpable.

Harry was not unaffected. "What I'm hearing then, is that you'd prefer we forget it ever happened, and start fresh."

Merlin looked wary, but relieved. "Yes."

"Well then!" Harry extended his hand. "Hello, Merlin. I'm Galahad, but you can call me Harry."

Merlin shook his head, but he was smiling. He took Harry's hand in a firm grip, and Harry tried to dispel the memory of those long fingers trailing elsewhere on his body.

Merlin cleared his throat. "I should apologise for earlier. My remarks were uncalled for. Your mode of dress is, of course, impeccable."

"Careful, with compliments like that, people might talk."

Merlin snatched his hand away from Harry's with a warning look, and proceeded to show him how he modified the bullet-proof umbrellas to shoot projectiles.

* * *

  
For the next several weeks, Harry didn't see much of Merlin. Both men were busy with their own duties. Like ships in the night, they'd pass each other coming in and out of the tailor's shop or within the manor's many halls. They'd acknowledge each other with a polite nod and a "Good-" Whatever time of day it happened to be.

It was only a matter of time, though, before they'd be assigned on the same mission. Up in the dining room, Harry sat next to Lancelot, who unfortunately bore a striking resemblance to Roger Moore. Across from them stood Merlin, clipboard in his left hand. In front of them on the table were blueprints to two different buildings.

"We've been in contact with a scientist working for a certain pharmaceuticals company. She has recently discovered that the formula she had created that failed to be the next big innovation in a cancer cure has been reimagined as an agent for biochemical warfare."

Harry looked down at the folder in his hand. There were a lot of numbers and science in his packet. The only part he did understand was that a sample of the weapon has already been made and was ready for demonstration to potential buyers (without much care for the origins or intentions of said buyers).

"For security reasons," Merlin continued, and Harry realized it was the most he's ever heard him talk at one time. He did have a rather nice voice. Harry was looking forward to having it in his ear once the mission was in motion, "They keep the hard data of the formula and finished products in two separate facilities in two different countries. If the product was taken, they'd have the information elsewhere to make it again. If the data was stolen, they can reverse-engineer it from their sample."

"On top of that," Lancelot chimed in, flipping ahead in his papers, "If one or the other is discovered missing, the other facility would be alerted and security tightens more than a nun's chastity belt."

Merlin raised a brow at the choice of words. Harry barely controlled a snicker. "And that's where we come in," said Harry.

"Just so," Merlin agreed.

The agents on the ground had to be perfectly synchronized. If one were to be discovered, the other would be facing the same fate. Having hacked into both facilities' security cameras, plus the glasses feed, Merlin had to multitask between his two agents. It worried Harry a little. Merlin was good, but was he that good? He was still rather green, and he only had two eyes and two hands.

Lancelot was sent to the facility with the data servers in Canada. Harry tried to, but found he could not, be offended that Merlin did not have enough faith in Galahad's abilities to work his way around a complex computer. So, Harry was sent in to steal the vial of finished product in Scotland.

Let it be duly noted that Harry was impressed by Merlin's ability to switch between his two agents' comms without once mixing up with whom he was speaking too. It had happened to Harry once with the old Merlin. The ensuing confusion almost bungled the entire mission, if not for Harry's agility of both mind and body. It had been perhaps one of the earliest signs that Rupert's faculties were waning.

Harry crept through dimly-lit maintenance halls, squinting in the shadows for the next door he needed to go through while avoiding banging his head on low pipes. "It'd help if there was a night-vision option on our glasses."

"Working on it."

For a moment, Harry thought Merlin did slip up, and the reply was meant for Lancelot. "Night-vision?" He decided to clarify.

"Yes."

"Well then, put my name down for priority requisition."

"Noted, Galahad."

Was there a hint of amusement in the handler's otherwise completely business-like tone? Harry found himself smiling as he removed a ventilation panel and slid into an octagon-shaped room. The walls were reinforced steel, the lights in the room only a soft blue. In the center of the room was a tall, oblong structure. A safe.

"Galahad, hold position," Merlin said urgently.

Harry took a breath in and plastered himself against the wall just under the vent. There were long seconds of deafening silence. His comm clicked over again. "Lancelot in position, Galahad you are clear to proceed."

Harry released his breath and crept up to the safe. Merlin had assured him in the briefing that there were no other security measures other than what was suppose to prevent unauthorised persons from even entering the room (which Harry had just by-passed), and the combination to the safe itself. Still, no harm in being cautious.

The combination, according to the brief, changed every day, numbers generated at random by a computer system. A computer system that was laughably easy to hack into, according to Merlin. Harry sincerely hoped Merlin's hubris was justified, and that it wasn't so easy to be suspicious. Harry entered the numbers Merlin had provided him. The safe opened with a click and a hiss.

Once a billow of cold mist dissipated, there sat Harry's prize: a tiny vial of blue liquid. It looked like nothing more than a brightly-coloured child's drink (or something being downed at raves). But according to the scientist who had accidentally created it, if exposed to it, every tissue in the person's body would immediately start to swell at a rapid pace leading to extreme pain and death not long after.

Harry removed from his jacket pocket a pair of gloves that appeared to be nothing more than stylish, leather driving gloves, but were in fact as resistant to harsh chemicals as the thickest laboratory safety gloves. Then from his breast pocket he removed a clam-shell glasses case. The inside was padded to insure the safest possible way to transport the hazardous material. Once it was inside, and Harry latched it shut, it could only be opened again via a thumbprint of a Kingsman with the proper clearance level.

Harry put on the gloves, held the glasses case open, and waited for the go-ahead.

"Now, Galahad!"

At Merlin's command, Harry snatched the vial.

Merlin's sudden swearing nearly startled him into dropping it. "What's the matter?" Harry demanded.

"There must have been a pressure-triggered alarm under the vial. All hell's breaking loose!"

Well, shit. There was nothing going on inside the room Harry was occupying. Clever though. It would lead less-prepared thieves into a false-sense of security.

With as much speed as the necessary care dictated, Harry tucked the vial away in its case and back into his jacket pocket. He jumped back into the vent, not bothering to close it behind him. No need to spend unnecessary time trying to cover his tracks. They knew he was there and where he had been. All that was important now was getting out alive and with the cargo intact.

"Galahad, your route is deviating from approved-"

"Don't worry," Harry said, huffing a little as he slid around a corner, running at full tilt. Now out in the halls, klaxons were blaring and red lights flashed. "I memorised the layout. I know where I'm going."

"But there is-"

Merlin was cut off by the sudden blast of machine gun fire. Harry dropped into a slide, moving beneath the hail of bullets. Fuck. Running into three guards, fully armed, was not part of the plan.

Coming out of the slide, Harry spun to his knees. With one hand he removed his pistol and the other a small flash grenade. He took out one guard with a headshot. Once the flash went off, Harry got to his feet. He made to pass the disoriented guards, but one managed to grab his arm.

Harry turned and kicked out the guard’s knee. As he fell, he grabbed the guard's Kalashnikov and swung at his head. The crack could be heard above the cacophony of alarms. He gave the remaining, still disoriented, guard the same treatment, making sure he stayed down.

Harry made it to the end of the hall where it should have branched off to the left or right. Harry found both directions closed off to him. Steel doors had come down, trapping the intruder.

Well, almost.

Harry was standing in front of a window. The glass was thick, but not unimpenetrable. He switched out the clip in his gun for the shotgun cartridge. He held up one arm to cover his face, and raised the other to fire his shot to weaken the pane.

Above the sound of the gun, the alarms, the shattering glass, Harry couldn't quite make out what exactly Merlin was screaming at him over the comms. At a guess, berating him for not following the predetermined escape route, along with all sorts of terms to express exactly what he thought of Harry's level of intelligence.

He backed up to ensure getting the most momentum he could muster, and ran at the window. In the breathless, quiet moment, once he had cleared the building and right before gravity took its course, he heard Merlin shout, "You're too far-"

He hit the ground, landing on his left side. His glasses snapped into two pieces, silencing Merlin and blinding the handler to Harry's situation.

Adrenaline kept him from feeling all the scrapes left by the glass and all the bruises that were blossoming all over his body. And for some reason, his left arm refused to work. It made it more difficult, but didn't prevent him from getting to his feet. He grabbed the remains of his glasses and pocketed them. Climbing over the chain-link fence with only one arm was awkward, and he fell unceremoniously to the ground for the second time. At least he was now outside enemy territory.

A black, unmarked vehicle skidded to a stop in front of him. The backdoor popped open, and the driver's window lowered. "Galahad, get in!"

Harry's vision was beginning to blur, but he recognized her from the Edinburgh office.

Tripping over his feet to fling himself into the back seat, Harry would have been mortified at the lack of grace he was displaying if he hadn't immediately passed-out.

* * *

  
When Harry opened his eyes it was to white walls and a tall figure standing over him. He blinked away the blurriness of long-sleep, and the figure sharpened into Merlin. He was standing at the foot of the hospital bed, arms crossed, clipboard held against his chest. His mouth was set in a thin straight line, forehead creased. His gaze seemed to be on his own feet.

Harry licked cracked lips. "Hello."

Merlin's head and eyebrows shot up at the sound of Harry's scratchy voice. "Back with us, Galahad?"

"How bad?" He didn't feel any pain, or _anything_ really. They must have needed to give him the strong stuff.

"Mission successful. Files and chemical destroyed. Lancelot made extraction without a scratch. You, on the other hand... Left arm fractured in two places," Merlin reported.

Harry looked down. So that's why he couldn't move that arm. It was encased wrist to shoulder in a cast. Great, that was going to itch like hell. He let his head fall back on the thin pillow with a disgruntled grunt.

"And a bump on your noggin. Looks like you have an Easter egg sprouting over your eye," Merlin continued.

With his unencumbered hand, Harry prodded his forehead. His "bump" felt like the size of a goose's egg. "How long will I be off active duty?"

Merlin's lips pressed into that unhappy line again. "Medical staff is still deliberating. I'll have to leave it for Morgana to give you that news." He lowered his arms to his sides. "Well, since you're awake, I should-"

"Were you worried about me?" His sluggish mind finally processed the significance of Merlin's (now admittedly) unexpected presence, the way he was holding himself, and the expression he was wearing when Harry first woke up.

Merlin's eyes flickered. A moment of surprise or fear of being caught out? But then he squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. "I was worrying. About your dog."

Harry raised a brow. Or tried to. The large bruise was making it difficult. Subtle as it was, Harry was thrown by Merlin's willingness to reference their initial encounter. "Mr. Pickle, you mean?"

"Hmmm."

"Happy and healthy. Thank you for asking."

Merlin nodded. "You've been away for some time..."

Harry grinned. "You know we have people come around to agents' homes when we're on long missions or otherwise incapacitated: do a spot a cleaning, toss out any food going off, feed and water plants and pets."

Merlin's brow knotted slightly. "Yes, of course."

"And I'm feeling well, too, considering. I suppose at least until what ever magic potion Morgana's given me wears off. Thank you for asking."

Merlin smirked. "Well, I already knew that, didn't I? And I like your dog. I like dogs in general."  
  
"And you don't like me?" Harry batted his eyes.

The corner of Merlin's mouth stretched further upwards, becoming dangerously close to a full smile. "Only just."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While on a boring mission, Harry and Merlin discuss they're preferred ways of handling post-mission adrenaline. They end up indulging in one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it took so long to get you this chapter. September was a month filled with personal and technical issues for both me and my [beta, cruelest_month](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cruelest_month/pseuds/cruelest_month). This was initially the first half a longer chapter, but to get you lovely people who I know are thirsty for more Merlahad content on this site some new material, I decided to separate them into two chapters. Am still working on that next chapter, but hopefully it will come at you in more a timely fashion than this one did.
> 
> I would like for my readers to remember that in the 1980s, men's gym shorts were _very_ short.

Two months of convalescence, and another month of physical therapy, had Harry desperate to get back into the field. 

Even after being declared fit for full duty by medical, Arthur still only sent Harry out on milk runs: Low-risk assignments that were more boring than his days at home working the _Times_ crossword, and entertaining Mr. Pickle. 

Harry had a feeling these missions were less about concern for Harry's well-being, and more Arthur's punishment for putting himself in casts by not following Merlin's directions. 

"Are you bored, Galahad?" Merlin asked after Harry sighed. 

Harry found a pillar to lean against and let his gaze slowly sweep across the ballroom, his live feed showing Merlin the same view. 

"I tend to avoid these sort of parties outside of work. The conversation's always rather dull." 

"It's a good thing you're working then. The conversation should pick up once you make your contact." 

"You overestimate how excitable I find the exchange of nonsense code phrases and glad-handing microfilm. Informants’ palms are always sweaty." 

"Well, let's hope someone pulls a gun so you have something interesting to do." 

Harry tried to hide a smile with his champagne flute, but not before a woman with a backless (and mostly frontless) dress caught his eye and smiled back. He winked at her, but a man twice her age put a possessive hand on her pale back and steered her away. Harry sighed again. "You know it was after a mission just like this that we first met." 

Merlin made an inquisitive, but otherwise emotionless hum. 

"No outlet for the adrenaline, you see, if a fight doesn't break out." Harry paused for some kind of reaction. His earpiece only picked up the sound of paper rustling. "I found that the best way to dispel this excess energy is to find a bed partner. Or if the mission has left me not feeling particularly sociable, to drink until the feeling goes away." 

"There are other, less self-destructive, options you know." Merlin chimed in. "I find a visit to the gym a perfectly acceptable means of energy dispersion with the added benefit of maintaining my own health and fitness." 

Harry could vividly recall the tight, sinewy muscles that Merlin kept under wraps. The only other peek at them Harry had managed was when Merlin had his sleeves rolled up, working at a table covered in watch parts. "In need of that kind of release often, are you?" Harry asked.

"If you find non-physically demanding missions frustrating, imagine having to sit and only _watch_ the action, your heart still racing, living through it all vicariously with zero ability to act." 

Harry did try to imagine. Finding it such an unpleasant thought, he stopped. Then he imagined Merlin's predicament. He walked around so steady, like nothing could touch him. Harry couldn't picture Merlin’s hands shaking from adrenaline as they hovered over a keyboard. His brow becoming spotted in sweat from nerves, perhaps even worry. Merlin reined it in well. Perhaps too well. But then, Merlin had displayed a wonderful ability to repress and still function. 

"So you take out your need for violence on a poor unsuspecting bag, you mean? Doesn't sound like a satisfying challenge for me." 

"You could always find a willing partner to spar with." 

"Are you merely suggesting, or are you offering?" 

"Let's wait and see where the evening takes us." 

"You're a tease," Harry accused, but he was grinning. He had been afraid that Merlin's insistence at keeping their relationship professional would mean stilted conversation and standoffishness. 

And for the first few weeks of their acquaintance it was very much just like that. But the mission in Scotland seemed to have thawed the ice. Much to Harry's delight the more they managed to actually speak to one another, he found Merlin to be more than a fun and friendly colleague. 

In some ways it made it worse. To find a person physically attractive and desirable was one thing. To discover that he could actually like him and enjoy his company complicated matters because now he was finding some difficulty separating the feelings. 

Over his own contemplations he could hear the sound of paper rustling yet again from Merlin's side of the comm. 

"I'm sorry am _I_ boring _you_?" 

"I'm reviewing information vital to the mission at hand." 

"Bollocks. That's the sound of glossy paper. You're reading a magazine." 

"It's a scientific journal and I'm reading a most fascinating article about holographic technology." He paused, but since Harry made no protest to the topic, he must have felt safe to continue. "I think the problem with making it functional is that everyone is trying to play to expectations that holographic displays would be something visible to the naked eye, something simply projected onto a surface like something out of _Star Wars_. Where in reality, a special viewing device would be necessary. Whether it is something that the hologram must be projected into or something that the viewer is wearing over their eyes." 

"Such as 3-D glasses at the cinema?" 

There was another pause. "You were actually listening?" 

"Of course. I've learned my lesson about always listening to my handler, haven't I? Besides, you speak about tech with a passion I won't find in any conversation here." 

"The moon is bright in Vienna," a nervous Swiss-accented voice said at his shoulder. 

Harry resisted rolling his eyes. _Such as_. "It's brighter in Venice, reflecting off the canals." Harry turned and tilted his head down to come face to face with a small, round, owl-eyed man. 

Monsieur Giauque licked his lips nervously. Harry tried his most winning, reassuring smile. It was something he apparently needed to work on since it only caused the little Swissman to gulp. He shoved a trembling hand into his jacket.

He could only look more suspicious if he were wearing a trenchcoat with the collar turned up.

It heightened the odds of possible discovery and Harry having to fight his way out of the estate, protecting the informant as well. It slightly lessened his annoyance with Giauque's amateur antics.

Unfortunately, Merlin’s planning for this meet was just too good. Giauque had not been followed, and no other party attendee appeared the least-bit interested in their interaction. They exchanged a few more sentences about stargazing in foreign countries, then Giauque removed his hand from his jacket to shake Harry’s in a friendly farewell.

The thin roll of microfilm pressed into Harry’s palm was damp. He hid his grimace behind another toothy smile.

The prosaicness of the whole affair had Harry spending his entire journey back to the manor with clenched fists and jaw. With tight steps he made his way to the decryption suite to turn over the microfilm. His next, and hopefully final, stop was to Merlin to report he had placed the film in the proper department and thus officially completing this whole charade of a “mission.”

But Merlin was not at his station. Harry took a deep breath through his nose, and was about to say “fuck it” to protocol and leave the premises without proper dismissal when he noticed a piece of paper sticking up from the computer keyboard. His name was written across the top of it in bold marker. He crossed the room to pick it up and read the rest of it:

_Went to the gym. You may join me if you wish. If not, have a pleasant rest of the evening. -M_

Well, that was hardly a choice at all now was it?

Harry didn’t dash down the halls. And at that time of night, there were no witnesses to claim otherwise. The locker room was equally vacant, so no one saw the way Harry tore his suit off as if it were burning him. Forcing himself to not be so obviously eager, he slowed his movements to make sure his clothing was put away properly. He was not so quite beside himself that he would let his suit be left in a ball in the bottom of the locker. 

His Kingsman issued workout clothes were a t-shirt with the encircled K printed over the heart, and a pair of black sweatpants. Harry slipped them on, and exchanged his silk socks for a fresh pair of cotton ones. 

He ran a hand through his hair and pushed open the door that led into the gym.

A large dining hall had been converted to suit the needs of men and women in need of training and constant physical upkeep. There were treadmills, weight machines, and punching bags. One wall had outcroppings for vertical climbing. The floor in the center of the room was covered by a large, seamless, square mat.

Merlin was already on the mat, warming up with push ups. He was wearing a gray t-shirt, same as Harry's, and black sports shorts. His long, pale legs, fully displayed, were stretched out behind him. Vividly, Harry could recall the shape and feel of those calves, course hair tickling his sweaty palms... Harry clenched his fists and shook the inappropriate memory away.

Merlin paused, his arms straight, holding his weight without the slightest tremor. He lifted his head and smiled up at Harry. "There you are." He stood to his full height in one smooth, serpentine motion. 

It was the first time Harry had seen Merlin without his glasses (at least since _that night_ ). White tape was wrapped around the arches of his feet and ankles. His wrists and knuckles were given the same treatment. Merlin put his hands up, his legs shifted, putting his weight on the balls of his feet. His chin was tilted down, his dark brows shadowing his eyes. 

Many words had come to Harry's mind to describe Merlin: Handsome, nerdy, gorgeous, stoic, but he suddenly had a new one to add to the lexicon: Dangerous. 

Which in no way detracted from the other store of adjectives. More so amplified them. 

Harry rocked his head from side to side. The slight cracking was only minutely worrisome. He brought up his own hands and slowly started to circle Merlin.

Merlin was watchful, cautiously following Harry’s steps. Their eyes never left each other’s, waiting to see who was going to make the first move. When it clearly wasn’t going to be Merlin, Harry stopped his feet and smirked. “Well, are we going to stand here all day or are we going to fight?”

Merlin huffed a laugh, rich and dark, sending a shiver down Harry’s spine that had nothing to do with intimidation. Merlin went for Harry’s left side. There wasn’t as much force behind the punch as there could have been. It was more of a test, forcing Harry to block with his newly-healed arm. But surely a clever boy like Merlin knew that broken bones stitch back together all the stronger. Harry did not pull his first punch. He tried for a quick jab, aimed at Merlin's pointy nose. But Merlin was quicker, leaning away, Harry's hand swinging only into air.

They traded blows, attacking and defending in turn. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow. There were perfectly executed feints and dodges, but blows were landed, guaranteeing a few bruises to show. Merlin had a mean right hook, but Harry's was meaner. Harry was starting to get lulled by the rhythm of fists and elbows. He should have realised Merlin was letting his moves become predictable.

That’s why Harry was taken completely off guard when Merlin spun and landed a roundhouse kick to Harry's chest, sending him backwards and down. Harry blinked up at the ceiling. He called himself all kinds of fool for never considering that Merlin knew how to use the reach of his legs against an opponent. 

Merlin stood over him, grinning smugly. Harry clenched his jaw, curled his legs in then kicked himself back up to his feet. 

Merlin's leg immediately came up again, but this time Harry was ready. He caught his ankle and tugged. Merlin lurched forward, his hands coming down on Harry's shoulders. Before Harry could bring his arms up to knock him away, Merlin tipped backwards bringing Harry down with him.

Harry prevented finding himself flat on his back again. Going with the momentum, he tucked into a roll, and sprung back to his feet.

They faced each other, both breathing hard. Harry had to push damp curls out of his eyes. Merlin's lip twitched. It was too sharp to be a smirk, yet too amused to be a sneer.

The tone of their exercise changed. It was no longer about connecting and deflecting strikes. It was about immobilization, arms bent behind backs, bringing each other to their knees, only to reverse positions. Every time Harry thought he had the final upper hand, Merlin would manage to twist away.

Through it all, blood pounded in Harry's ears. The feel of his muscles being used for what they were best at was almost euphoric. He knew he was going to even enjoy all the bruises that would come later. Adrenaline and endorphins, the body's natural chemicals were not unlike the most popular street drugs and just as addictive. Perhaps even more so.

To the end of his days, Harry would blame the slickness that collected on the mat in the wake of their vigorous activity that made him lose his footing.

Harry was flat on his back, his wrists pinned above his head. Merlin's legs were tucked underneath him, his shins pressing into Harry's thighs. Merlin had his weight equally distributed between his hands and legs, giving Harry no quarter. Both their chests heaved in labored exhales. A drop of sweat rolled off Merlin's jaw, and dripped onto Harry's upper lip. Harry stared into Merlin's blown eyes and licked the salty drop away with a dry tongue. "Merlin...." Harry's voice was no more than a rasp. 

Merlin gasped and scrambled back like a man burned. The sudden lifting of the heady weight left Harry momentarily disoriented, the air around him abruptly cooler without the other man's body so near. Gathering some of his wits, he managed to sit up, hands braced behind him. 

Merlin was on his feet, his back to Harry who stared at the dark, damp line on his shirt clinging to his spine. Merlin started unwrapping the tape from his hands. "I think that's enough, now." He turned his head enough to be heard, but didn't actually _look_ at Harry. "Have a good night, Galahad." 

Harry wanted to protest, both that it was very much not enough and at the use of his codename. But Merlin was already striding away, bare feet soundless against the floor. 

Harry drew his knees up to rest his head against. "Fuck!" He swore loudly into the fabric. He had half a mind to get up and go after him, confront him in the locker room or the showers. He curled his hands around his knees and gripped them tight. But that would be incredibly inappropriate; conduct unbecoming of a gentleman. He could not allow base desires to override the respect he had for the man, for himself, and the agreement they had made. He checked the clock high up on the gym wall. 

It wasn't so late. He still had to time to stop at a pub and work his charms. 

Harry ended up taking home a blonde with breasts softer than his most expensive pillows. She had said her name was Sandra. He promptly forgot it by the next morning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gun fights.  
> Car chases.  
> Proper action and shit.
> 
> Plus, Merlin remains aloof and unattainable. Harry's frustration mounts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you there'd be less of a wait!
> 
> A little forewarning: My good friend and usual Beta is in the processing of moving (to another state!), so I decided to post this chapter without her. I've been over it 50 times myself, but things slip through...

The next time Harry was called to Arthur's office, it was finally for the sort of mission he'd been gagging for. A faction of “political activists," that Kingsman had no reason to trust, claimed to have stolen the schematics for a dirty bomb from their own group's leaders. 

"The ones willing to meet claim that this is a step too far, a 'Not what we signed up for' scenario,” Arthur’s tone dripped with derision. “And of course, instead of standing up to their leaders themselves, they prefer to be able to claim the plans were taken by enemy spies, and not be completely lying." 

"And keeping themselves off the radar of any 'proper' authority who could just take the lot of them in." 

"Precisely." Arthur paused a moment, steepling the fingers of his papery hands. "The plans will have to be confirmed as legitimate on site, by someone who will be able to immediately tell what we've been given is not say, the schematics to the latest Japanese VCR. That's why Merlin will be going with you." 

Harry lifted his head from reading the file, and blinked at the old man. "You're sending Merlin into the field?" 

"He is perfectly capable of taking care of himself." 

"I don't doubt that, being former RAF and all." 

Arthur's white brows rose and Harry immediately realised his mistake. Merlin's military history was not common knowledge, and Harry only knew because he had seen the tattoo. 

"You and he are getting on fairly well then." Arthur didn’t ask.

"Like a house on fire. Any reason why we ought not to be?" He batted his eyes, trying his most innocent expression.

It did not work on Arthur. "I've heard reports that your first meeting was not entirely on good terms. Then there was the debacle in Scotland." 

"He did not appreciate my flair for dramatic timing. That is all. But we've come to learn how to accommodate each other's eccentricities." 

Arthur still did not look convinced. "As long as you can work together and keep any damage to yourselves and the city to a minimum is all I care about." 

The city of whose structural integrity Arthur was so concerned about was Paris.

Harry wrapped his hands around the wrought-iron railing of the balcony while gazing out at the city’s twinkling lights as the sun sank deeper into the horizon. The City of Love. Harry scoffed and turned his back on it.

His new view was of Merlin unpacking. They were sharing a room. One with two beds. On his, Merlin was meticulously laying out his array of gadgets and weapons into neat rows. Being in the field, Merlin was wearing a Kingsman bespoke. Normally he wore plain trousers and shirt with a slip-over that gave him the appearance of an errant schoolboy puttering around the mansion.

His suit was heather grey with a subtle plaid. The exquisite tailoring threw into sharper relief the features Harry had always found difficult to ignore: the breadth of Merlin's shoulders, the trimness of his waist, the interminable length of his legs. 

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. He was a goddamned professional. He was not going to be distracted. 

He cracked an eye open. Well, he could afford at least another few seconds of distraction…

“Everything all right, Galahad?”

Or not. Merlin had finished his unpacking and organizing, and was giving Harry a slight frown. Harry brightened his expression, saying “Splendid!” as he pushed himself away from the rail and re-entered the room. 

Merlin lifted a brow at him, but inquired no further. Instead, he reminded him, “Glasses, Galahad,” before tapping his own and greeting their handler. “Are you reading us, Agravaine?”

Harry activated his own pair just in time to hear the older knight respond. “Loud and clear gentlemen. Visuals confirmed. Nice accommodations. Perfect for a pair of modestly-wealthy business partners.”

“Nicer than Budapest. Starving artist/idealist,” he explained to Merlin.

“Who would not have been starving and in a nicer flat if he wasn’t so concerned about being a _fashionable_ artist. I went over some old reports, after someone pointed out I should have familiarized myself with more agents’ activities.” He gave Harry a teasingly arched look before Harry could even ask how Merlin knew.

Merlin started picking items off the bed and secreting them about his person: a lighter/grenade, a cylindrical cigar case, a handgun in his shoulder holster, and extra ammo for it. Harry made sure he had all of his own standard Kingsman equipment, including his newly upgraded umbrella. Under his navy, pinstriped jacket he holstered his guns: one under his arm, the other at the small of his back.

“I have access to the CCTVs around the meet site,” Agravaine informed them. “No movement so far, except the trains.”

The meet was taking place at a semi-abandoned warehouse by the cluster of train tracks at the Paris/Val-de-Marne border. They drove over the Seine in a nondescript Kingsmen vehicle, completely untraceable, with a stockpile of easily exchangeable international plates. They parked less than a mile from their destination and made the rest of the way through the train yard on foot. Merlin kept his eyes high, scanning the roofs. Harry kept his keen gaze to the shadows on the ground.

“Cameras inside the building have just been taken out,” Agravaine informed them.

“Our hosts are home then,” said Harry.

The cameras being taken offline was not unanticipated. It was standard procedure for these kinds of clandestine midnight meetings.

“There's your entrance,” Agravaine confirmed when they reached the assigned building and came upon a door that may have been white some point in its life, but now was badly chipped and rusted. Harry and Merlin drew their guns before Harry turned the handle. Despite going slow, the door screeched open on its neglected hinges, making them cringe.

“Well,” Agravaine drolled as they stepped inside, “so much for-” A crackle of static cut their handler off and Harry’s ears went silent.

“Agravaine? _Agravaine_!” Merlin hissed. “Shit.”

“What happened?”

“There's something in here blocking the signal.” 

“That's alright, we're big boys. Don't need nanny looking over our shoulders.”

“Galahad, this wasn't-”

He was cut off by a voice calling out to them in French, echoing from somewhere within the dimmed space. About only a quarter of the warehouses lights were on. Sets of crates and containers littered the floor haphazardly, abandoned and forgotten.

Merlin responded back in French with the countersign. Harry's linguistic flair was for the Arabic languages. Merlin's was in the Romance languages, which was horribly ironic in Harry's opinion.

Cautiously, they followed the voice until they came upon an open area. In a pool of light there stood a metal table. Behind it was three men, all of them with drawn guns. Fair enough, Merlin and Harry were likewise at the ready.

“You are the English?” The blond man standing between his two cohorts asked.

Harry could hear Merlin’s intake of breath, but he interrupted before Merlin could correct him. “Yes,” Harry confirmed brightly, ignoring Merlin's disgruntled muttering.

The five men eyed each other and ever so slowly, weapons were put away. Merlin and Harry stepped closer and into the bright light.

“You have it?” Asked Harry.

“ _Oui_.” The blond man snapped his fingers. The goon on his right who had a tall mohawk and was wearing a denim vest, removed a roll of papers from a cylinder container he had slung over one shoulder. 

The pages were spread out onto the table. They were large, grid papers with numbers, lines, and shapes that meant nothing to Harry other than reminding him of some deplorable modern art.

Merlin bent over the pages, hands braced on the table, smoothing the curled edges. Harry kept his eyes trained on Blond, Mohawk, and the third one who could only be called “Beardy.” At his side, Merlin’s hums changed in pitch: from inquisitive to concerned. The papers rustled as he lifted one page to examine the layer underneath. 

“What do we have, Merlin?”

Merlin stood straight and blew out a breath. “What we have is concerning. As you know, the ‘problem,' as in a problem for the terrorists who try and make them, with dirty bombs is that effects of radiation from any of these bombs are negligible. In terms of actual damage, they’re better off with with dynamite strapped to a clock. But whoever designed this,” He gestured to the pages, but Harry didn’t look down, “appears to have legitimately designed something that could disperse lethal levels over a large area.”

“A city the size of Paris, say?”

“Easily.”

The blond man shook his head and frowned. “We want to bring down the bourgeois, but not like this. Not like _this_!”

Merlin started speaking in French again. Harry was able to decipher the words “radioactive materials.” The blond man replied vehemently, definitely something about Russians, and jabbed the bomb schematics with his finger.

“He says-” Merlin began to translate, but at that moment a single shot rang out. The blond’s forehead burst open in a spray of blood, bone, and brain matter. 

Muzzle flashes danced in the darkness like fireflies. Mohawk and Beardy were felled before they could even get proper grips on their weapons. Merlin grabbed the papers (now splattered with red) and dove behind a stack of wooden crates. Harry opened his umbrella and crouched, keeping a tight grip on the handle as it was jostled by the spray of bullets. He twisted the handle and the trigger Merlin installed popped out. He squeezed it and the umbrella fired its five spitzer bullets at random. It made enough of a distraction for Harry to roll and join Merlin behind his cover. "You know, the shooting element would be better if the umbrella were see-through."

"Working on it!" Merlin said before going to one knee, leaning out, and firing off several rounds from his pistol.

"Along with the night-vision you promised me?"

"I'll add it to the list." Wood splintered above them as their attackers returned fire. Merlin pulled his lighter from his pocket and looked Harry in the eye.

Harry removed his own. Without breaking eye-contact, without need of a count, together they flipped their lighters open and pressed the activators. As one, they stood and lobbed the grenades over the crates, and quickly ducked again as they exploded. The rush of heat and smoke blew over them, and once the ringing in his ears cleared, Harry listened for any more movement. Hearing none, he slowly rose, gun at the ready. Through the dust and haze, nothing stirred. Splintered wood and bodies lay dormant on the concrete floor.

"We're clear. Let's move out."

They made for the door quickly, constantly scanning for any more hostile company. They exited by the door they entered with an ease that made Harry nervous. Once outside, they kept close to the shadows of the building. 

“Agravaine. _Chester_!” Merlin tried, tapping at his glasses. In Harry’s ears there was only crackling static. “Shit! Whatever they used just didn’t jam the signal from inside, it affected the circuits directly.”

Now useless, Harry tore his glasses off his face. “Where are the plans?”

Merlin slid the cigar case from his jacket. “Here.”

“You folded those papers small enough to fit in there while under fire? Remind me to hand all maps to you. Are they the only copies?”

“As far as our departed friend was aware, yes.” 

“So, their colleagues will want them back quite badly.”

“I’d imagine so.”

As if Merlin’s words conjured them, three jeeps, each containing at least two gunmen as well as their drivers, came bouncing over the myriad of train tracks. The agents were cut off from their own vehicle. Harry briefly closed his eyes, needing only the moment to recall the satellite map of the area they studied before the mission. His eyes popped open. “Follow me.”

They ran. 

The uneven ground made the jeeps’ occupants unable to fire in any way other than erratically. Plus, Harry and Merlin had sedentary train cars for cover. But they had to keep moving, and the obstacles of the train yard would not be there for their advantage for much longer. 

They ran South. Between the yard and the river were several dilapidated brick buildings. From one, orange light glowed from behind dingy windows and a New German Wave song blared from within. Sitting outside its doors were rows of the preferred mode of Parisian transportation: _deux-roues._

“Watch the door,” Merlin told him before leaping into the cluster of motorcycles. He ducked, disappearing among them. Harry did as he was told, and played lookout in case someone stumbled out from the pub and took exception to their bit of larceny.

In no time at all, an engine sprung to life. Harry turned and Merlin popped back up next to the hot-wired vehicle. “You drive.” 

Harry grinned, eyeing the sleek, black Ducati and the man standing next to it. “With pleasure.” 

They pulled out into the streets and made for the bridge. Harry swerved between cars, ignoring traffic signals as he sped away from the riverfront. Lights blurred and the wind stung Harry’s eyes. Horns blared and brakes squealed in their wake. Rapid gunfire soon added to the cacophony. 

Harry could see the jeeps in his mirror. Merlin kept one hand on Harry’s shoulder while he twisted around and returned fire. There were two loud bangs and the jeep swerved, its tyres shot out. The second jeep passed its disabled brethren to lead the chase. The third jeep turned off somewhere and disappeared. Harry revved the engine and sped up.

With Merlin in the back, he was the one taking the brunt of the enemy fire. Even with the bulletproof material, Harry knew Merlin’s skin would be a mottled with bruises from the multiple impacts.

Harry took a sharp turn. The motorcycle tilted dangerously, causing Merlin to clutch tighter at Harry. When they straightened, it was to find the third, previously missing, jeep coming straight for them. Harry was about to pull the brake and turn but Merlin squeezed his shoulder and shouted over the engine, “Keep going straight!”

The hand left Harry’s shoulder and slid down his back to remove the gun holstered in his waistband. “Are you mad?” Harry shouted over his shoulder. “You’ll fall off.”

“No, I won’t,” Merlin said with conviction. A gun in both hands, Merlin sat back enough so his chest was no longer against Harry’s back. And that’s when Merlin shifted his legs and his thighs tightened around Harry’s waist and _Jesus fuck_ now was not the time for the inappropriate flashbacks that move was causing. Merlin kept his balance that way even when Harry had to jerk to the left to keep from being sideswiped by a Pacer.

“Break and turn on my signal,” Merlin said over the wail of sirens as they joined the increasing commotion of disrupted traffic.

“What will that be?” The jeep was close enough for its occupants to open fire on them. A bullet grazed Harry’s neck, right at the collar. 

“You’ll know.” 

In front of him, the headlights and the bulk of the larger vehicle was barreling down on them. In his peripheries he saw Merlin’s arms stretch out, past Harry’s shoulders. Harry held his breath. Merlin fired both guns rapidly, emptying their clips. The windscreen on the jeep shattered. The vehicle careened, flinging its two remaining occupants, now that the driver was dead. 

Harry did pull the break then, turning the motorcycle 180 degrees, narrowly avoiding the crash. Their wheels against the pavement rose smoke and the stench of burned rubber into the air. Guns still in hand, Merlin’s arms came down to wrap around Harry’s chest.

With only the one last vehicle to deal with, and the turbulence already blocking sections of street, they made their final getaway easily. They were able to slip down narrow alleys and pedestrian stairways where the last jeep could not follow, and they no longer had back up to cut the Kingsmen off. 

Within a mile of their hotel, Harry slowed down, coming upon more late-night businesses that had crowds of motorcycles outside their doors. Merlin had all their guns tucked back where they belonged, hidden away. They disembarked and left their bike not with the others, but around the corner of the building where the two of them took a moment to catch their breath.

Merlin took his jacket off and started plucking squashed bullet shells out of the fabric. Harry was desperately trying to get his windblown hair back into some sort of semblance of propriety, but it was to no avail. “You’re bleeding,” Merlin informed him. 

Harry touched his neck and hissed. The graze, right. He took out a packet of medical alcohol wipes and cleaned it up. It had already stopped bleeding, it was more for cleaning his skin and collar off. Walking into their hotel lobby with mussed hair, pink faces, and disheveled clothes could be explained away by a night of debauchery. The blood could raise eyebrows. He tilted his head. “Better?”

“Better,” Merlin confirmed as he slid his coat back on. They caught each other’s eyes then and grinned. 

Harry was transfixed by Merlin’s mouth, and he licked his lips. “We need to get off the streets,” Merlin said.

Harry blinked and returned his gaze to the rest of Merlin’s face. “Of course. After you.”

They made it back to their hotel without any sign of being followed or watched. Once they crossed the threshold of their room, Harry barely registered the click of the lock behind them, but it was the signal to his brain that the mission was over; they were in safe territory. Harry turned and grabbed Merlin by the shoulders, grinning. “You’re a fucking marvel!” Unable to control himself any longer he stepped forward, the momentum making Merlin’s back hit the wall. He kissed Merlin with all the exhilaration left from the chase; with all his admiration for Merlin himself.

Merlin’s hands gripped Harry’s waist and his lips pressed back. Harry’s moan of delight quickly turned to dismay as Merlin’s hands pushed him away, and his mouth had only moved to form the words, “Please, don’t.”

Harry gaped and blinked, some of his blood finally rushing back to his brain. “I- I’m sorry. That was-” He stared at Merlin’s profile, the other man refusing to look at him. Harry thickly cleared his throat. “I shouldn’t have.”

Merlin adjusted his glasses and slid out and away from between Harry and the wall. “I should try to make contact with Agravaine. You can have first shower.” 

Smooth, how he managed to make the suggestion sound like a conciliatory offer. Harry almost, _almost,_ didn’t catch the underlying demand for space. Merlin sat down on his bed, bending over to remove his shoes to get at the communicator hidden in their heels. Harry left him to it, grabbing his suitcase off his own bed and marching into the bathroom.

Harry tore his suit off, much more careless than he usually was. But then he was brimming with frustration. Frustrated with himself for his boorish behaviour, with Merlin for being so… _Merlin._ And mostly with the erection that has become more and more insistent ever since Merlin removed the gun from Harry’s back. Harry’s shame and disappointment had not lessened it even a bit.

He yanked the cold water knob as far as it would go and stepped in. The icy shock made Harry shout and his already aching muscles tensed. But it did what Harry needed done. “Fuck off, you,” he said through gritted teeth at his crotch.

He still needed to properly wash off the sweat and grime of the mission, though, and turned the water warmer. He managed to wash his hair and get partly through soaping his body before his problem returned. “Oh, come on,” he muttered. He ignored that particular area of his anatomy and continued on to his legs and feet.

With a half-exasperated, half-determined sigh, Harry squeezed a dollop of shampoo on his palm and finally reached down to slide it along his rehardened length. He closed his eyes and tried to focus strictly on the sensations, resolute to not indulge in fantasy to bring himself off. Of course when you tell your mind to _not_ think on something, you can’t help but do anything but, and Harry went back to the moment when they first entered their hotel room.

He considered what he had _hoped_ would happen: Pushing Merlin down on one of the beds, flat on his back. Harry would have crawled over him, hastily doing away with Merlin’s belt and zipper, pulling out Merlin’s fantastic cock with nearly frantic lust (during their one-time tryst, Harry had only been marginally acquainted with it, and was desperate for more). Harry would have torn his own clothes off much like he had in bathroom, but instead of being alone he’d be decadently pressing his bare skin against Merlin’s mostly clothed form as they rutted and traded wet, greedy kisses until Harry kneeled up and pressed back. Since this was fantasy, there was no need to pause for any necessary prep, and Harry could slide down, and be filled with exquisite pressure and heat.

Harry gasped and moaned, both in his head and aloud as his hips jerked and his hand tightened, his climax rushing over him before his imagination could carry on. He did nothing to stifle his moans, not caring if he was heard in the next room. It wasn’t like Merlin didn’t exile him to the shower for this very purpose.

Harry braced himself against the tiled wall, slowly regaining his breath, letting the water rinse away the last of the mess.

He finished his ablutions and took the time to take care of his suit properly after changing into his silk pyjamas. The shower had done its trick of easing Harry’s nerves, and he exited the bathroom a much more calm and relaxed man.

Merlin was sitting up in bed, his legs bent so the book in his lap was propped open on his thighs. It was the same one he had been reading on their flight to France. Something about _Computers in Crisis_ and an overly-long subtitle. “I made contact with HQ,” Merlin told him, glancing up only briefly from his pages.

“And how are the kittens Agravaine must have had while we were dark?”

Merlin huffed a small laugh. “Sleeping now that I was able to confirm that we had the plans. And we’ll be placing Kay behind the curtain to track down anyone in the Russian black market trying to smuggle nuclear materials into the West. I also made sure to give him the plate of the motorcycle we borrowed. I’m sure the owner will be compensated.” 

Harry stretched out on his own bed. “And _our_ compensation?”

“Extraction in five hours. So, get some rest.”

Harry closed his eyes. It wasn’t until he turned on his side, his back to Merlin that he heard the other man moving to ready himself for the night. In the darkness behind Harry’s eyelids, despite Merlin’s obvious attempts at being quiet, the rustle of fabric, the click of a closing door and the running water from the next room were distractingly loud.

Harry put a pillow over his head, squeezed his eyes tighter and tried not to think about Merlin in the shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -If you recognized the chapter summary as something from _Hot Fuzz_ , congrats! You truly have wonderful taste in movies.
> 
> -About a week ago I realized that for this story Chester King would not be Arthur yet, so I decided to make that clear. And you if you look up Agravaine, I think it's a suitable code name.
> 
> -The book Merlin is reading near the end is _Computers in Crisis: How to Avert the Coming Worldwide Computer Systems Collapse_ by by Jerome and Marilyn Murray. It was published in 1984 and was an early publication that predicted the Y2K Bug. 
> 
> -The next portion of this fic is where my outline gets a little nebulous. That, and with my signing up for a fic exchange or two for the holidays, I cannot say how soon the next chapter will be ready. Please hang tight! I've been getting just the loveliest comments, and I don't want to disappoint.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin has a few surprises for Harry. But it's Harry who manages to surprise Merlin the most in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa! I hadn't realized how long it's been since I updated. Whoops. But between writing for a couple holiday exchanges, the holidays themselves and my post-New Year's cold, time slipped away. I hope someone out there is still sticking with this!
> 
> Thanks again to [cruelest_month](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cruelest_month/profile) for giving this chapter a pass over.
> 
> This is the last one, I hope it was worth the wait and satisfying.

In the time since they started working closer together, Harry had assumed their growing friendship would dampen the baser desires he felt towards Merlin. On the contrary, it only served to increase it. And not only for a second go-around, but a desire for something that could be described as a meaningful relationship, were Harry Hart the sort of person who could ever have such a thing.

They were becoming so close, nothing Harry did surprised Merlin anymore (although he tried. Mostly the only reaction he could get was exasperation). Harry also assumed the reverse was true: There was nothing Merlin could do that would surprise him.

He was wrong.

Harry had been away for a week. His cousin's wedding was nothing less than an Ordeal with a capital O. He was ready to vent about it all over a pint and to a sympathetic ear. He opened Merlin's office door with a greeting on his lips that immediately died.

"What the fuck happened?" Were his first words instead.

Merlin, and for a moment Harry wasn't sure it truly was him, raised his now completely shorn head. He capped the pen he'd been writing with and set it down before straightening his back. The fussy display was a tell. One known only to Harry that Merlin was feeling self-conscious.

"I've noticed it thinning for some time now. So, I decided to be proactive in the development."

Harry gave himself a long moment to drink it in. It gave his friend a more severe appearance, throwing his brow and cheek bones into sharper relief. Overall, it rather suited him. "You took efficient, practical action when faced with adversity. I expect nothing less from you. Most men wallow in denial."

"Like Kay?" Merlin snorted. "I saw his comb over as a cautionary tale."

Harry took a step closer to where Merlin was seated. He could see the light shadow of where his hair had been, and the hairline was indeed further back than Harry had realized. His fingers twitched.

"Go on, then. I know you want to."

"I would never be so presumptive as to violate your personal boundaries." But since Merlin had given him permission, Harry stood next to him and raised a hand. Merlin gave him a wryly amused look. Harry gently set his hand down on Merlin's bare head. It wasn't completely smooth. A day's worth of stubble prickled his palm. He gently investigated the sensation with the side of his thumb.

"That's enough now." Merlin's voice was oddly strained.

He let his hand slide back and down over the curve of Merlin's head and gave the back of his neck a quick squeeze before stepping back. "You carry it well."

Merlin cleared his throat and pushed his chair away from his desk. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Another one, you mean?”

Merlin crossed the room, and started to shift through the detritus covering his work bench. He turned around with a pair of glasses in his hand, exact replicas of Harry’s current style. 

“New standard issue?” Harry asked, removing the pair he was wearing and taking the set from Merlin’s hand. 

“Prototype. Needs some field testing before we upgrade the entire table.”

Merlin watched Harry as he settled the glasses on his face, fidgeting with them until they rested comfortable and straight on his nose. “So, what’s the new features?”

Wordlessly, Merlin crossed the room to the door and hit the main light switch. Before Harry could even blink, his view lit up. All the objects in the room and Merlin, waiting expectantly with his arms crossed, were cast in a green glow. Harry laughed. “You fucking marvel! You bloody well did it!” Harry slowly turned in a circle, examining all the corners of the dark room, perfectly illuminated for him. 

“Whatever stops your nagging.” 

Harry turned back to Merlin who had lowered his arms and was watching Harry’s every move, evidently having upgraded his own specs already, too. And despite his attempts at looking put-upon, there was the slightest uptick in the corner of Merlin’s lips.

Harry grinned fully. “As long as I know I can always wear you down.”

Merlin shook his head and switched the lights back on. The lenses transitioned back to normal instantly so that their wearer wasn’t blinded with the light change. Harry continued to smile at him. “Come have a drink with me.” Merlin opened his mouth, face pinched, clearly ready to decline. So, Harry stopped him before he could start. “To celebrate your genius and my survival of Herefordshire.”

Merlin turned his head, but that tiny smile returned. “Very well, I’ll get my coat. And for the record,” he said, stopping at Harry’s side, speaking low into his ear, “you haven’t worn me down.”

* * *

Harry trudged to his front door. His five weeks in Argentina had been vastly unpleasant. His colleagues had expressed jealousy before he left, envious of his spending time in the warm and sun. But they had forgotten it was winter south of the equator, and the winds of Patagonia were exceptionally harsh.

His exhaustion fled however when he lifted a hand to punch in his security code only to find "System Disengaged" already flashing. Slowly and noiselessly he opened the door and slid his gun from beneath his jacket. There was a light on in the entryway, and more low light spilled out from the sitting room. Not exactly the MO of a common criminal, but then a common criminal would not have been able to bypass his security system. Low growls and a deep laugh came from the area of the sitting room. Harry pressed himself against the wall by the doorway and shifted to give himself a protected view of the room.

His alert muscles immediately relaxed and he reengaged the safety on his gun. There, in the middle of the floor sat Merlin, his long legs stretched out, and between his knees was Mr. Pickle. Merlin had the end of a short knotted rope in one hand, and the dog had the other end in his mouth, trying to tug it away from the man's grasp.

Harry walked into the room. "What are you doing here?"

Merlin immediately dropped the toy and Mr. Pickle scampered to the other side of the room to chew on his prize. "You're home early." Merlin declared, wide-eyed, still on the floor.

Harry crossed his arms and tilted his head. Merlin hadn't answered his question.

Chagrined, Merlin stood, brushing off his trousers. "I seem to have found myself on the roster for pet upkeep for active agents."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Found." And not using his access to put himself on the list? "So, you're taking care of other agents' dogs?"

For a moment, Merlin looked like he was actually going to lie before saying, "No."

Harry looked over at Mr. Pickle, still gnawing away at the rope, little tail flapping. He hadn't even acknowledged his master's return. "He has been less affectionate of late. I should have known another man had entered the picture." He sighed dramatically.

When he turned around, Merlin looked sincerely distressed by the news. Harry hastened to reassure him. "Not really." Harry shook his head. "You know, if you wanted to spend time with my dog, all you had to do was ask. You could even bring yours over."

Now Merlin was the one to shake his head. "You don't know what you're allowing. I have five dogs."

"Five?"

"Some of the failed candidates from the last batch didn't want to take theirs with them."

"Merlin, you're making it very difficult for me to not kiss you right now." Harry stepped into his space.

Merlin turned his head away, but otherwise didn't move. "Not enough excitement on this assignment, then?"

"On the contrary. I'm exhausted and my feet are killing me. You try running three miles on uneven ground in oxfords."

"Sit down then, you daft man." He grabbed Harry's arms and practically shoved him down on the sofa. This was proceeding only sort of how Harry was intending. But Merlin wasn't climbing into his lap. Instead, he walked out of the room with intent.

Harry stared confused at the archway until Merlin reappeared, a tube of lotion in his hand. "Botanical extracts and emollients," he read off the label. "Plain aloe isn't good enough for your delicate, posh skin, eh?"

“It does wonders for calluses,” Harry said, defensively. “As in the kinds that a tailor ought not to have.” He crooked his fingers, miming the press of a trigger. 

Merlin sat down on the sofa next to him. “Right then, off with your shoes and socks.”

Harry blinked at him. “If this is your way of asking me to undress, you should have started with my shirt.”

Merlin gave him a blank, unimpressed look. “You’re in pain, and I’m in a position to alleviate it. If you don’t want a massage, I’ll leave you to wallow alone.”

“When you put it like that…” And who was Harry to say no to Merlin when he was the one offering to put his hands on him? Harry bent over and undid his shoes, then pulled off his socks. Exposing his feet to the air, they throbbed as if he had just released them from a vice. 

Harry scooted over, shifting so that his back was against one arm of the sofa, and he swung his legs up to plunk his bare feet on Merlin’s lap. Harry grinned and wiggled his toes at him. “Go on, then.”

Merlin opened the lotion and gave it a sniff. He hummed at the aroma. It was a vanilla and citrus scent. It was pleasant and not overpoweringly perfumy like so many skincare products were. Merlin squeezed a dollop into the palm of his hand, and gently rubbed his hands together.

“Warming it for me? Very considerate. Gentlemanly even.”

Merlin’s hands hesitated a moment at the tease. But then he made a soft, throat-clearing noise, and proceeded.

Fingers, strong enough to break the fragile bones in his toes with ease, pressed gently, moving in little circles. His hands moved down and he pressed both thumbs in the ball of Harry's foot. It made Harry's toes flex. But when Merlin slid his thumbs down further and dug into the arch, Harry swore. He kicked out, Merlin unable to keep a grip with his slicked hands, nearly got hit in the chin. "Fucking bastard! That fucking hurt!"

Merlin frowned and grabbed Harry's ankle, stilling his movement. "You've gone through hours of torture by people who _wanted_ to hurt you without making a peep aside from some sarcastic remarks. You can tolerate a foot massage without so much fuss."

Harry leaned his head back, and huffed. "Just... Be gentle with me."

Merlin chuckled and stroked a finger along the bottom of his foot, his nail scraping lightly. Harry almost kicked him again. "Not that gentle."

Merlin's grip firmed and his thumbs returned to their pressing and stroking. When the pain in his right foot dulled, Merlin switched to the left. After the initial discomfort, tense tendons and muscles stopped resisting Merlin's magic fingers, and the burning pain from the mission subsided into a warm ache that was oddly soothing. Harry took a deep breath, inhaling the mingled scents of vanilla, orange, and Merlin. Harry closed his eyes.

When he opened them again it was dawn. The blanket that usually stayed on the back of the sofa was spread out over him. Mr. Pickle was curled up on Harry's feet, snoring gently.

Otherwise, the house was the empty.

* * *

Before Harry knew it, another year was coming to a close.

The annual Kingsman Christmas/New Year party was attended by anyone currently in the country. Arthur was lording over it all with Chester seated on his right. The knights of the table always voted on their new Arthur when the previous one died or retired. But the old man was clearly grooming Agravaine for the position. No other knight seemed too keen to take on the part anyway. The next oldest knight, Lancelot, always said he'd rather die in the field then turn musty and rot behind a desk.

The party was great for morale. It allowed many in the agency to socialise and connect when usually everyone was flung to the farthest reaches of the earth during the rest of the year. Active agents finally had a chance to meet and thank the support staff that were vital in completing missions, but always behind the scenes. Harry delighted in being able to trade stories with Percival and Gawain who he hadn’t been in the same room with for months.

His conversations were interrupted periodically by women from communications coming around with mistletoe in hand, stealing as many kisses as they could from the agents. They apparently had a bet going, and the men were more than happy to indulge in their fun. 

The music had people moving. Drink and conversation was flowing freely. Even Merlin was at the center of his litter of techs. Harry would occasionally glance his way and catch Merlin watching Harry, a look of increasing consternation crossing his face as another blushing, giggling comms girl stepped Harry’s way. 

Merlin would quickly cut his gaze away when Harry tried to make eye contact. Merlin turned his attention back to his group. One of them, a round-face boy from decryption, seemed especially fixated on Merlin and would get increasingly more into his personal space every time Harry looked over.

Something dark and cold settled in Harry’s chest. Harry was reminded of how for all his gym visits, Merlin was not above going out on the pull when he needed to. Harry knew it on a more than intellectual level, and yet the flair of jealousy raised its ugly head. It was none of Harry’s business anyway at best, and it was incredibly hypocritical at worst. Harry had hardly been keeping himself celibate while pining for the man who had become his best friend. And by Merlin’s own staunch rules would rebuff any advances made by a coworker. Of course. 

It would take one hell of an exception to make him even waver a little. Harry felt his jaw clench.

Once the ladies tired of their kissing game, they started pulling their favored men onto the dance floor. Harry felt someone tug on his hand, but he was concentrating on Merlin and how the round-faced boy had a hand on Merlin’s arm and obviously fluttering his eyelashes. Harry’s only consolation was that Merlin was clearly not paying attention to him, brow still creased in a frown.

“Won’t you dance with me, Harry?”

Harry turned to the pouting woman and gave her an apologetic smile. “Maybe later.” 

He grabbed an unopened bottle of champagne off a table as he passed. He knew Merlin saw him coming, and Harry took it as a good sign that he did not try to move away. He even let Harry wrap a hand around his elbow. “My deepest apologies ladies and gentleman!” Harry greeted the group with an entirely insincere smile. “But I’m afraid I need to borrow our dear Merlin for a moment or two.”

“But-” Round-Face began.

Harry’s grin took on a feral glint as he tugged on Merlin’s arm, creating space between him and his little hanger-on. “So sorry.”

“Harry, what are you doing?” Merlin hissed, but allowed himself to be pulled away. 

“We need to talk.”

“Harry-”

“In private. You hate parties, anyway.”

Merlin huffed, resigned. “I do...” 

Music and voices echoed down the halls of the estate as Harry led them further and further away from the source of it. Neither of them said a word until they reached Harry’s destination, the library. With the heavy, oak doors closed behind them, all other sound was cut off. Merlin immediately stood by a velvet settee facing an unlit fireplace. He leaned one hand on the mantel and rubbed at his eyes with the other. “Harry,” he said, but didn’t seem inclined to say anything else.

Harry took a moment to pop the cork on the champagne bottle, not caring about the foam that spilled onto the Persian rug. He waggled the open bottle at Merlin as he sucked some spilled drops off his knuckles. With a roll of his eyes, Merlin accepted the bottle. 

“You didn’t have to leave on my account,” Merlin said after taking a swig. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

“I was being honest when I said we needed to talk. And I always enjoy myself more when it’s just the two of us.”

Merlin snorted. “You seemed happy enough with all those women wanting your attention.”

Harry sighed and took the bottle for his own drink. "Perhaps it's a sign of my aging, but I finding my casual, fleeting arrangements unsatisfying.” Merlin had no retort to that. He only pressed his lips together and refused to look at Harry. So, Harry pressed on. “It’s been different lately. Being with someone after a mission, but who doesn't understand, who I could never talk to about _why_ I needed not to be alone."

"You have your bed partners, and you can always come to me if you need to talk," Merlin deflected.

"Is it so wrong to want both from one person?"

"Because it's more convenient?"

Harry couldn't let himself be affronted by Merlin's insinuation. He wasn't going to be deterred from the course he set out on. "Believe me, there's nothing convenient about being in love with you."

Merlin sat down hard, collapsing back, his breath leaving him like a man punched in the stomach.

"I know friendship, comradery and I know lust," Harry pressed. "When I look at you I feel both those things, and yet neither. I think it's something else entirely. And I'm certain you don't look after the dogs and massage the feet of any other agents."

Merlin looked pained a bit. It wasn't unlike when he had come back from a mission in Morocco with a concussion. "Jesus, Harry." Merlin's voice was thick. "We can't-"

"Why not? Because the military instilled in you that 'Look, don't touch' policy?"

"A policy that does exist in Kingsman."

Harry snorted. "As if everyone here didn't go to public school. If they're not partaking themselves, they've learned to turn a blind eye to such things so well they've become downright myopic to it."

"Arthur-"

"Arthur may be old enough to remember Oscar Wilde's trial and have his opinions formed by it. But he's on his way to retirement if he doesn't die of mere frailty first."

"And you think Chester will be any more open-minded?"

"I'll bet you back in school he was the one who gave the quickest blow jobs."

Merlin cringed, but was laughing at the same time. "You can't give me images like that!"

Harry took the unguarded moment to take a seat next to Merlin, not touching, but close enough. Harry took in Merlin's sharp, pale profile. Merlin, mouth still curled in amusement, watched Harry from the corner of his eye. "It's still a risk."

"One I would not be asking you to make unless I wholeheartedly believe that we would be magnificent together, and both happier for it."

Harry waited. He played all his cards, threw them down on the table with their worried corners and worn edges. He waited, all the while silently pleading, _Please, please, please_. 

Merlin’s hand twitched. Harry held his breath as it slowly slid across the cushion and came to rest over Harry’s hand. Harry turned his wrist, pressing their palms together and lacing their fingers in a tight grip. His throat tightened in overwhelming relief and gratitude. He lifted his eyes to find Merlin smiling, his eyes glistening. 

“I suppose we have managed to survive much worse than loving each other.” 

Harry laughed. Merlin’s smile widened. He leaned in closer, his right hand coming up to slide into Harry’s hair, fingers rubbing away the gel Harry used to keep his curls in order. Merlin was looking at him with such a deep fondness, an openness of expression, it took Harry’s breath away. He was beautiful, and it was all for Harry.

They came together, the champagne tinge on their tongues quickly melting away in the heat of their ardour. The walls Merlin had erected around himself, his heart, didn’t so much crumble away, but rather crashed down with a force that had Harry clutching at Merlin’s shoulders. Harry felt like he was drowning in it, in Merlin, while simultaneously pouring out everything he had. 

He loosened one hand from their white knuckle grip to slide it down Merlin’s chest and press into his lap. Merlin pulled away then, panting. He grabbed Harry’s wrist, stilling his hand from where it was cupping Merlin’s growing hardness. Harry whimpered (and not ashamed to do so) at being stopped.

“I refuse to fuck you on Kingsman property.” Merlin growled. 

Harry gasped. “Then you better take me home. Please.”

Merlin smiled and nipped at Harry’s lip. “Since you asked so politely.”

When Harry awoke the next morning, for the first time in his life there was someone next to him. He reached out and ran a hand across the dark dusting of stubble on Merlin’s cheek and he knew from now on he wouldn't want it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's left kudos and comments. Your support is always very encouraging, especially as someone who doesn't write multi-chaptered WIPs often.
> 
> There is a possibility for a sequel. I've got some other story ideas for other pairings in the pipe right now. So, we'll see.

**Author's Note:**

> Multi-chaptered fics are normally not my forte. But I've got a good chunk of this started and at least outlined. I'll do my best for there to not be _too_ long of wait between chapters.
> 
> Tags to be added/updated as chapters are added.


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